


The first time of Christmas

by Ruquas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruquas/pseuds/Ruquas
Summary: Neither Steve nor Bucky brought Christmas up. Steve didn’t even knew if Bucky knew that they had been a thing once. And Bucky didn’t even looked slightly interested in all the Christmas themed things they tried to show him.Steve was fine with that. He had Bucky back. That was all that mattered to him. He could already count himself a lucky one because he got that much.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	The first time of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doctorkilljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkilljoy/gifts).



> I know, Christmas is over. Originally, I wrote that fic and thought "Well, post it next year". But there's a very dear person, who I hope likes this better than the thing we talked about - even if you're down right now, I hope this will at least give a small smile :)

_ 1940 _

It wasn’t much. Steve knew that it wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do with the limited resources he had.

And then, it didn’t matter anyway, right? Bucky never celebrated Christmas anyway. Steve never figured out why and he never asked.

So, it shouldn’t matter if they had a tree or if they had a few decorations or an expensive meal, right? 

“Stevie? You home already?”, Bucky called out as soon as he entered the apartment.

“In the kitchen, Buck.”, Steve called back, carefully watching the piece of meat he got his hands on while he stirred the mashed potatoes. Then Bucky hugged him from behind, pressing a small kiss on the back of his neck.

“That smells delicious, Stevie. Do I want to know how we can afford this?”, Bucky asked, his voice light but Steve knew he worried. Steve hadn’t been able to work much the last few days because he got a cold (or, as Bucky put it, another pneumonia, but Bucky wasn’t a doctor, so he couldn’t know for sure and Steve surely wouldn’t tell him).

“You said you missed the food your granny sometimes made”, Steve said, turning down the heat from the canned veggies, hoping he didn’t ruin them. 

God, he was a shitty cook.

“Yes, that did I say. Still doesn’t answer my question, punk.”

Steve smiled and turned around, grinning up at Bucky before shoving him in the direction of the table.

“No, it doesn't. Tough luck. Now shut up and wait for dinner.”

“Sir, yes, Sir.”, Bucky mocked, but sat down, watching Steve cooking. Carefully, Steve checked if everything was done (mainly the meat, because undercooked definitely wasn’t what he aimed for) before he plied everything on two plates, for once sure that both of them would be full after the dinner. 

“Was it something illegal, Stevie?”, Bucky asked, voice laced with worry.

“Or… something different illegal?”

Steve’s head shot up.

“No!”, he said, shaking his head vehemently. He would never… _do that_. Bucky just looked relieved.

“I saved up for it.”, Steve murmured. 

“That was nice of you.”

Dinner was silent, both of them digging in, the food way better than both of them had expected it to be. They even had leftovers for tomorrow! But when Steve wanted to stand up to take the dishes away, Bucky just took a hold of his wrist, looking up at him, smiling.

“Dance with me? I will do the dishes tomorrow, I promise. Just… dancing?”

Steve hesitated. He had wanted to do something nice for Bucky, but if he left the dishes now, it would be hell to get them clean tomorrow.

“Please?”, Bucky asked and giving Steve a small pout, eyes twinkling.

“Okay. God, you’re the worst.”, Steve laughed while he went to the living room, putting his dishes into the sink on the way. He heard footsteps following him.

“You still love me.”, Bucky said while turning on the radio. Quiet music played, something classical Steve didn’t recognized. He took a hold of Bucky’s waist and hand. He didn’t lead. He couldn’t, wasn’t big enough without making it awkward.

“Yes. You are still an asshole.”

“The worst, yes.”

“Merry Christmas, Buck.”, Steve whispered, smiling while put his head on his boyfriend's shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”, Bucky whispered back and for just a little bit, the world for Steve was perfect.

~*~*~

_ 1943 _

If there was one thing Steve always hated, it was the cold. Even if it just was the way it reminded him of all the time he spend it sick in bed, always just a few breaths away from death.

But he had Bucky back and that was the most important thing.

And here, in their slightly damp, fucking cold tent he could pretend, just for a few more minutes, that they weren’t somewhere in god knows somewhere in Italy but at home, in their tiny apartment and only needed to worry that the heater doesn’t work… again.

And then someone cursed loudly outside the tent, destroying Steve’s bubble.

“You’re a heater now, Stevie. I love it.”, Bucky murmured, eyes still closed, looking younger and older at the same time than he was. 

“That’s good, because you will have to live with it the rest of your life.”, Steve said, knowing that he probably looked stupid with a smile plastered on his face right in hell.

“Poor me.”, Bucky said before turning around, smiling lazily at Steve.

“Merry Christmas, punk.”, the brunette whispered before he pressed a kiss on Steve’s mouth.

“Merry Christmas.”

It wasn’t perfect, by any means. But it was probably the best thing that could happen here. And it would get better someday.

~*~*~

_ 1945 _

It would never get better. Steve was sure of it while he flew the airplane down into the river. He refused to survive until the next, lonely Christmas.

~*~*~

_ 2004 _

Steve decided that Christmas wasn’t for him. Not anymore.

~*~*~

_ 2016 _

Neither Steve nor Bucky brought Christmas up. Steve didn’t even knew if Bucky knew that they had been a thing once. And Bucky didn’t even looked slightly interested in all the Christmas themed things they tried to show him.

Steve was fine with that. He had Bucky back. That was all that mattered to him. He could already count himself a lucky one because he got that much.

~*~*~

_ 2018 _

When he got home, it was quiet. Not silent, because Steve could hear the radio playing, some Christmas carols, even the classic ones, not the strange, up-beat music he often heard around him.

But what got him, what made him stop was the smell from the kitchen.

Since Bucky started remembering things (he even remembered that they had been a thing! They even sometimes shared the bed, when Bucky felt up to it) he took up cooking and baking to destress.

And knitting. Which was a bit weird, but fine.

So it wasn’t unusual that the other man cooked, wasn’t even unusual that he cooked recipes he seemed to remember from his mom or Steve’s mom. Recipes from the old times.

But that smell, pork and potatoes, that was something that brought up old memories. Very old. Memories, Steve realized, he thought that they were forgotten by now.

“Hey, Stevie.”, Bucky called from the kitchen. Slowly, Steve took a few steps forward, walked slowly in the kitchen to see Bucky standing at the oven, mashing potatoes (real ones, not that mix Sam was so fond of, god knew why), a big pot on the oven, big enough for a roast. And a smaller one where Steve could see mixed vegetables.

“Hey.”, Steve croaked, not sure if he was dreaming. Bucky turned around, the smile getting a bit unsure.

“You… I didn’t knew if it was a memory or… did we do this?”

“Yes just… the other way. I cooked, you came from work. Our first Christmas as…”

Bucky nodded and turned back to the oven, turning everything down.

“As a pair, yes. Then I remembered correctly. Sit down.”

Steve sat down dumbly, just looking at Bucky, feeling the tears rolling down his face. He still had to swallow down a lump when Bucky put a plate in front of him. It looked different from what Steve had cooked all those years ago, but he was sure, it would taste better than everything he ever cooked. Mostly, because Bucky had been the one who learned how to cook. But Steve knew, no matter how it tasted, it would be the best thing ever.

A small kiss was pressed on the top of his hair and then Bucky sat down, too, at his usual place where he could watch the door while they both pretended that he didn’t do it.

“Dig in, punk.”, Bucky murmured, not looking at Steve but that was okay, because that way Steve could pretend that Bucky didn’t knew that the tears still ran down his face.

And just like he thought, Steve was sure that was the best meal he ever had and will ever have. Even before he put down his fork and knife, he knew what he wanted.

“Dance with me?”, he asked, looking at Bucky, watching the other man frown for a short second. Obviously trying to remember something.

“I will do the dishes in the morning.”, Steve offered and saw the moment Bucky realized that those words sounded familiar because they were.

“If you’re sure, Stevie.”, Bucky said and stood up, leaving his plate at the table just like he always did. Steve shook his head and put his own plate into the sink, following Bucky into the living room.

“You can lead, this time. If you want.”, Bucky offered, smiling. Probably remembering how Steve had complained that evening that he couldn’t lead, that it was always Bucky.

Steve shook his head and took Bucky’s metal hand and grabbed his waist.

“No. This. This will be perfect.”

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

“Merry Christmas, Buck. I love you.”


End file.
